


Ghost Stories

by hrhrionastar



Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: F/F, Gen, Pre series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-04
Updated: 2011-07-04
Packaged: 2017-10-21 01:00:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/219171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hrhrionastar/pseuds/hrhrionastar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, a group of young Mord'Sith got together and told scary stories...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Triana's Turn: the Soul-Stealer

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Halloween Challenge on [People's Palace](http://peoplespalace.livejournal.com/).

**Triana’s Turn: The Soul-Stealer**   
****

**  
**“One night two Mord’Sith, yet to attain the honored rank of Mistress, were given guard duty on the ramparts of the People’s Palace. It was a dark, lonely night, but they were brave and eager to prove themselves.

As they watched, one facing south and the other north, they felt the cool air shivering through their braids, an ominous chill, and one Sister drew her agiels.

The other asked, ‘What is it?’

‘Don’t you feel it?’ said the first. ‘Something _wicked_ this way comes.’

The second Sister could feel it, too—a faint raising of the hairs on the back of her neck, an itching in her palms, a longing for her agiels…

She waited, but there was no enemy she could see.

Until, from far away, there was a glimmer of white—“

“A Confessor!” Garen gasped, hand over her mouth.

Triana frowned, angry at being interrupted. She was telling this story, not Garen, who had barely qualified as a Mord’Sith only months ago, and who annoyed her almost as much as Cara did.

Cara sat across from Triana in the circle, Dahlia clinging tight to her hand, face even whiter than usual. Triana felt a small twinge of satisfaction that she was scaring Dahlia, at least.

Next to Triana, Denna leaned back at her ease, a little smirk on her lips. Triana scowled at her. Denna pretended to be so fearless. Really, she was just jealous of Cara, who was Lord Rahl’s favorite.

Then again, everyone was jealous of Cara.

“Yes,” said Triana, not without an inward sigh. “A Confessor. She seemed far away, but then the Mord’Sith turned around and there she was, one hand outstretched—“

“That would _never_ happen,” objected Cara. “How would a Confessor get into the People’s Palace?”

“She was disguised as a servant girl,” Triana said impatiently.

“But the Mord’Sith attacked before she could Confess them, right?” Dahlia asked urgently, eyes wide. “Right?”

“No,” said Triana, very annoyed now. “The Confessor grabbed one of the Mord’Sith around the throat and devoured her soul, and then she told the Mord’Sith to kill her Sister, and they fought, and they both fell off the battlements and died tragically, and Lord Rahl was really angry, but the Confessor disappeared and no one ever knew she even existed.”

They’d made Triana so angry she’d finished the story in a rush, instead of building up the proper atmosphere, the tragic pathos of how everyone thought the two Mord’Sith had killed each other, deserted their post, committed suicide…how the Confessor took not only their lives and their souls, but their honor.

She pouted, and thought about smothering Cara with a pillow.

Dahlia was frowning. “But if no one ever knew, how did you?” she objected.

Triana rolled her eyes, and Cara gave Dahlia a quick, ‘hush, it’s okay, baby’ kiss.

Denna leaned forward, and maybe it was a trick of the light, but her eyes seemed to glitter strangely. “Okay,” she whispered, “ _My turn…_ ”


	2. Denna's Turn: The Wizard's House

**Denna’s Turn: The Wizard’s House**

 ****“Once upon a time, there was a house. It was a Wizard’s house, and there were rumors that it held treasures beyond imagining: a mirror that showed other worlds, an elixir that could cure any wound, a great Sword that could slay any foe…

“Well, Lord Rahl sent a group of his best Mord’Sith to collect these treasures, for the further glory of D’Hara. And they were led by a strong and brave Mistress—let’s call her…Hera. Mistress Hera led her Sisters into the house, and a fierce draft blew out their torches and slammed the door behind them. But Mistress Hera was so intuitive that she could see in the dark, and she wasn’t afraid. ‘Follow, cowards!’ she called to her Sisters, when they stopped in their tracks. They were so ashamed by Mistress Hera’s bravery that they inched forward after her.

“But Mistress Hera was impatient and headstrong, and she went into the treasure room without waiting for her Sisters.

“Instantly, the door closed behind her, and blinding light filled the room. When Mistress Hera could see again, she realized the room was empty!

“Empty, that is, except for her—and a thousand mirror images, reflected from the shining walls. Mistress Hera turned and turned, but none of the mirrors showed her true image as she knew it.

“In one, she was dressed as a princess, crying; in another, her hair was shorn off and she was drawing her bow—she was a mother, two mewling brats in her arms and more clinging to her skirts—she was dead, eyes glazed and open to the sky—she was trapped in bandages, alive but unable to move for all eternity—

“They say Mistress Hera’s scream was heard as far away as the frozen Northern reaches, as far as across the boundary—that it woke Lord Rahl—

“Her Sisters hurried to break open the door, and they carried her away. But they found nothing in the room—no treasure, no mirrors. It was empty and silent—as the grave.

“And from that day, Mistress Hera never spoke again. Lord Rahl had her installed in a tower room, where she could watch for her ghosts, and she stayed there, and stayed there.

“After many years, they say she uttered these words: “All is sound and fury, signifying nothing,” and collapsed to the ground.

“But even the release of death was denied her. And they say Mistress Hera bides in that tower still, watching, and waiting for the end of the world.”

And Denna waited for one dramatic moment—and then leaned back and gave Triana, Garen, Cara and Dahlia her trademark smirk (they were not to know how she watched Lord Rahl and spent hours in front of the mirror, practicing).

Their eyes were wide with morbid fascination, and Denna knew she had gotten to them.

No one had even interrupted once—not even Cara.

Pride filled Denna’s heart. She could make Mord’Sith shiver in their leathers—fear was her specialty.


	3. Dahlia's Turn: The Party

**Dahlia’s Turn: The Party**

 **  
**“One day, Lord Rahl sent one of his Mord’Sith to go undercover at a party. It was held by a great Lord, or a man who thought he was a great Lord, and in his palace, there was no sickness, no suffering, no flaw—or so people said.

“That’s impossible,” Garen protested, but Cara shushed her, and Dahlia went on:

“So the Mord’Sith dressed in a gown fit for a princess, and hid her agiels where she might reach them easily—“

“In a princess’s gown?” Denna scoffed. “Not likely.”

Dahlia watched as Cara and Denna glared at one another. Cara’s earnest defense warmed Dahlia at the same time it irritated her—she was a helpless child no longer, and she didn’t need Cara’s endless mothering.

But she was determined to hold the other young Mord’Sith’s interest, just as Denna had done, so she continued:  
“The so-great Lord was a fool, the Mord’Sith soon realized. His court might be lucky, but he had no extraordinary power she could report to Lord Rahl. The other, minor lords and ladies were occupied only with frivolous concerns, and they eyed her with an interest she did not return.

“She was ready to leave, and dress again in the comfort of her leathers, but as she turned to the door, a tall, dark, hooded figure accosted her. His hand on her arm was cold as ice, and the Mord’Sith was intrigued.

“Without speaking, the cold man led the Mord’Sith back into the dance. She followed his lead, straining her every sense to learn his identity and purpose. At last, she said, ‘You are Death,’ for she had seen through his disguise.

“Death?” Garen said uncertainly. “You mean the Keeper?”

“The Keeper created Death,” Triana said impatiently. “They’re not one and the same.”

Dahlia raised her voice. “And Death saw that the Mord’Sith knew him, and he was surprised, because no other mortal in the palace had sensed his presence. ‘Will you beg for your life?’ he asked.

“The Mord’Sith tossed her hair, wishing for her braid, and said contemptuously, ‘Our fears do make us _traitors_ —Mord’Sith. Do _not_. Beg.’

They all had a slightly twisted smile for that—Cara, Triana, Garen, and even Denna. Dahlia allowed her own lips to quirk upward—just a little.

“Death was impressed with the Mord’Sith’s courage. Knowing that she didn’t fear him put him on his mettle, and he said, ‘Then begone from this place, knowing that we will meet again—on a battlefield, in a sickroom, beside a throne—I will always be at your shoulder.’

“But the Mord’Sith only laughed, for she had felt Death at her shoulder since she was a little girl, and this shade could not frighten her.

“She left the palace and returned to Lord Rahl and her Sisters.

“Soon, word came that the great Lord and all his guests had been struck down, taken by the Keeper. They had thought to outrun Death.”

The Mord’Sith’s cruel laughter filled the room.


	4. Garen's Turn: The Princess

**Garen’s Turn: The Princess**

  
Lord Rahl never seemed very interested in marriage,” began Garen. She caught Triana and Denna’s significant glares at Cara and sighed inwardly.

Why would Lord Rahl marry when all his Mord’Sith schemed to be his favorite? And if Cara happened to enjoy that position, why would her Sisters ever let an opportunity to destroy a bit of her happiness, no matter how petty, go by?

Garen, by no means immune to this impulse, smirked in Cara’s direction. Cara remained impassive, but Dahlia pouted. _No one thinks that’s cute_ , Garen thought angrily at Dahlia’s bottom lip.

“But one day a princess arrived from across the sea, and she said to the Mord’Sith who guarded the gate, ‘Let me pass. Your Master has sent for me.’

“Lord Rahl was angry at being disturbed, but he welcomed the princess, and told his Mord’Sith to give her every consideration.

“Soon it transpired that the princess was fleeing from enemies possessed of strange, powerful magic. So Lord Rahl ordered one of his Mord’Sith to impersonate the princess, for ‘her protection,’ he said.

“What an _awful_ assignment,” Cara commented.

Garen flushed with pride at her interest, and went on, a little nervously. “The Mord’Sith wore the princess’s gowns and made public appearances with Lord Rahl, and at last she was woken one night, in the princess’s soft bed, by the glow of unfriendly magic. Hesitantly, she lifted her hand to block it—

“’Fair is foul, and foul is fair,’ she heard, and there was a flash of light—

“And then Lord Rahl was there, and he absorbed the powerful magic. The next day he used the princess’s blood for his journeybook, and the Mord’Sith rejoiced that she was only a means to an end.

“But the Mord’Sith who had impersonated her found herself weak, so much so that merely looking at her own agiels brought her pain and fear—her wits were dulled, her senses confused—she was a coward, no longer worthy of the title Mord’Sith.

“And even Lord Rahl and all his magicians couldn’t make her a warrior Mistress again.”

Garen waited, hoping beyond hope that she had held her Sisters’ attention. They had only attained the rank of junior Mord’Sith a few weeks before she had, but when she was with them it felt like years. Cara was already Lord Rahl’s favorite, Dahlia might be pouty but she was absolutely ruthless, Triana would be leading missions soon, and Denna—

Garen would never admit it, but Denna scared her.

Triana punched Garen’s shoulder, and Garen was grateful for the nonverbal support.

Dahlia leaned forward. “We’ve been saving the best for last,” she grinned.

Garen watched as Cara put a finger against Dahlia’s lips. “Hush,” she whispered, bringing the sweet taste of fear back into the room.

Jealousy stirred in Garen’s heart, like a snake shifting its coils, and she scowled.


	5. Cara's Turn: The Seeker

**Cara’s Turn: The Seeker**

“Everyone knows the Seeker is dead. Or is he?

“Lord Rahl is ever-vigilant. But the Seeker has access to powerful magic beyond our understanding. Even now, he schemes against us. He wants to destroy D’Hara.

“There are those who scoff at the threat the Seeker represents, believing him a myth to frighten children,” here, Cara glared significantly at Denna. The other blonde rolled her eyes.

“Someday soon, the Seeker will come,” Cara asserted, pitching her voice low, so that Garen and Triana unconsciously leaned closer.

“His target? Lord Rahl. With the strength and power of a hundred men—or ten Mord’Sith—the Seeker stalks his prey. Soldiers are useless against him. Slowly, inexorably, he burns a bloody swath through D’Hara.

“Two brave Mord’Sith plot to kill him. But the Seeker is not alone, and his Confessor steals their souls. Another Mord’Sith captures the Seeker and begins his training. But his powers are more than a match for her.

“When the Mord’Sith meet their Master in the Underworld, they are deeply shamed. All their efforts are as nothing to the Seeker. Lord Rahl is dead. They failed—

“And now the world is chaos. The Seeker will see all the Sisters of the Agiel dead at his feet. Their failure—our failure—is complete.”

And Cara held them with her eyes—and then leaned back on the pillows. She wanted to scratch her nose and undo her braid (it was giving her a headache), but it would have spoiled the moment. Mord’Sith were used to suffering.

“I could train the Seeker,” Denna boasted. But Cara saw the uncertainty in her eyes, and rejoiced that she had put it there.

“Impossible,” Triana insisted. “We would die before we let the Seeker win.”

Cara smiled sharply. “Exactly.”

“The Seeker couldn’t beat Lord Rahl,” said Garen.

Cara had to admit that was the flaw in her imagined scenario. The idea of Lord Rahl’s defeat was ludicrous—inconceivable. Mord’Sith knew the story of the Creator and the Keeper, but for many, Lord Rahl was their only god.

“The Seeker,” Dahlia said, as though she could make it true by force of conviction alone, “is dead.”

Cara raised her eyebrows, but Dahlia’s adorable trembling lip made her relent. “Yes,” she said, “but if…”

Garen laughed in relief, and rose. “When shall we five meet again—in thunder, lightning, or in rain?” she asked, making a reference to the terrible weather the Palace had been getting lately.

Cara shrugged, and said mischievously, “In the Underworld?”

Triana scowled, and leapt to her feet. “Who’s up for some early morning sparring?”

Yes—Cara was reminded. They had stayed up all night talking and teasing and fighting. And finally story-telling. Her roommates were a loud bunch.

Lazily, Denna rose. “Think you can take me?”

Cara watched them go, and Dahlia’s lips brushed her cheek. “I can think of a better way to spend the morning…” Dahlia whispered.

“Good plan…” And may the Seeker rot in the Underworld. And his Confessor, too.

 


End file.
